CHAPTER VII._Biographical Stories (From: "True Stories of History and Biography")

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It was a pleasant sight, for those who had eyes, to see how patiently the

blinded little boy now submitted to what he had at first deemed an

intolerable calamity. The beneficent Creator has not allowed our comfort

to depend on the enjoyment of any single sense. Though he has made the

world so very beautiful, yet it is possible to be happy without ever be

holding the blue sky, or the green and flowery earth, or the kind faces of

those whom we love. Thus it appears that all the external beauty of the

universe is a free gift from God over and above what is necessary to our

comfort. How grateful, then, should we be to that divine Benevolence,

which showers even superfluous bounties upon us!

One truth, therefore, which Edward’s blindness had taught him was, that

his mind and soul could dispense with the assistance of his eyes.

Doubtless, however, he would have found this lesson far more difficult to

learn had it not been for the affection of those around him. His parents,

and George and Emily, aided him to bear his misfortune; if possible, they

would have lent him their own eyes. And this, too, was a good lesson for

him. It taught him how dependent on one another God has ordained us to be,

insomuch that all the necessities of mankind should incite them to mutual

love.

So Edward loved his friends, and perhaps all the world, better than he

ever did before. And he felt grateful towards his father for spending the

evenings in telling him stories,—more grateful, probably, than any

of my little readers will feel towards me for so carefully writing these

same stories down.

“Come, dear father,” said he, the next evening, “now tell us about some

other little boy who was destined to be a famous man.”

“How would you like a story of a Boston boy?” asked his father.

“O, pray let us have it!” cried George, eagerly. “It will be all the

better if he has been to our schools, and has coasted on the Common, and

sailed boats in the Frog Pond. I shall feel acquainted with him. then.”

“Well, then,” said Mr. Temple, “I will introduce you to a Boston boy whom

all the world became acquainted with after he grew to be a man.”

The story was as follows:—

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BENJAMIN FRANKLIN.

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[BORN 1706, DIED 1790]

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In the year 1716, or about that period, a boy used to be seen in the

streets of Boston who was known among his schoolfellows and playmates by

the name of Ben Franklin. Ben was born in 1706; so that he was now about

ten years old. His father, who had come over from England, was a

soap-boiler and tallow-chandler, and resided in Milk Street, not far from

the Old South Church.

Ben was a bright boy at his book, and even a brighter one when at play

with his comrades. He had some remarkable qualities which always seemed to

give him the lead, whether at sport or in more serious matters. I might

tell you a number of amusing anecdotes about him. You are acquainted, I

suppose, with his famous story of the WHISTLE, and how he bought it, with

a whole pocketful of coppers and afterwards repented of his bargain. But

Ben had grown a great boy since those days, and had gained wisdom by

experience; for it was one of his peculiarities, that no incident ever

happened to him without teaching him some valuable lesson. Thus he

generally profited more by his misfortunes than many people do by the most

favorable events that could befall them.

Ben’s face was already pretty well known to the inhabitants of Boston. The

selectmen and other people of note often used to visit his father, for the

sake of talking about the affairs of the town or province. Mr. Franklin

was considered a person of great wisdom and integrity, and was respected

by all who knew him, although he supported his family by the humble trade

of boiling soap and making tallow candles.

While his father and the visitors were holding deep consultations about

public affairs, little Ben would sit on his stool in a corner, listening

with the greatest interest, as if he understood every word. Indeed, his

features were so full of intelligence that there could be but little

doubt, not only that he understood what was said, but that he could have

expressed some very sagacious opinions out of his own mind. But in those

days boys were expected to be silent in the presence of their elders.

However, Ben Franklin was looked upon as a very promising lad, who would

talk and act wisely by and by.

“Neighbor Franklin,” his father’s friends would sometimes say, “you ought

to send this boy to college and make a minister of him.”

“I have often thought of it,” his father would reply; “and my brother

Benjamin promises to give him a great many volumes of manuscript sermons,

in case he should be educated for the church. But I have a large family to

support, and cannot afford the expense.”

In fact, Mr. Franklin found it so difficult to provide bread for his

family, that, when the boy was ten years old, it became necessary to take

him from school. Ben was then employed in cutting candle-wicks into equal

lengths and filling the moulds with tallow; and many families in Boston

spent their evenings by the light of the candles which he had helped to

make. Thus, you see, in his early days, as well as in his manhood, his

labors contributed to throw light upon dark matters.

Busy as his life now was, Ben still found time to keep company with his

former schoolfellows. He and the other boys were very fond of fishing, and

spent many of their leisure hours on the margin of the mill-pond, catching

flounders, perch, eels, and tomcod, which came up thither with the tide.

The place where they fished is now, probably, covered with stone pavements

and brick buildings, and thronged with people and with vehicles of all

kinds. But at that period it was a marshy spot on the outskirts of the

town, where gulls flitted and screamed overhead and salt-meadow grass grew

under foot.

On the edge of the water there was a deep bed of clay, in which the boys

were forced to stand while they caught their fish. Here they dabbled in

mud and mire like a flock of ducks.

“This is very uncomfortable,” said Ben Franklin one day to his comrades,

while they were standing mid-leg deep in the quagmire.

“So it is,” said the other boys. “What a pity we have no better place to

stand!”

If it mad not been for Ben, nothing more would have been done or said

about, the matter. Butt it was not in his nature to be sensible of an

inconvenience without using his best efforts to find a remedy. So, as he

and his comrades were returning from the water-side, Ben suddenly threw

down his string of fish with a very determined air.

“Boys,” cried he, “I have thought of a scheme which will be greatly for

our benefit and for the public benefit.”

It was queer enough, to be sure, to hear this little chap—this

rosy-cheeked, ten-year-old boy—talking about schemes for the public

benefit! Nevertheless, his companions were ready to listen, being assured

that Ben’s scheme, whatever it was, would be well worth their attention.

They remembered how sagaciously he had conducted all their enterprises

ever since he had been old enough to wear small-clothes.

They remembered, too, his wonderful contrivance of sailing across the

mill-pond by lying flat on his back in the water and allowing himself to

be drawn along by a paper kite. If Ben could do that, he might certainly

do anything.

“What is your scheme, Ben?—what is it?” cried they all.

It so happened that they had now come to a spot of ground where a new

house was to be built. Scattered round about lay a great many large stones

which were to be used for the cellar and foundation. Ben mounted upon the

highest of these stones, so that he might speak with the more authority.

“You know, lads,” said he, “what a plague it is to be forced to stand in

the quagmire yonder,—over shoes and stockings (if we wear any) in

mud and water. See! I am bedaubed to the knees of my small-clothes; and

you are all in the same pickle. Unless we can find some remedy for this

evil, our fishing business must be entirely given up. And, surely, this

would be a terrible misfortune!”

“That it would! that it would!” said his comrades, sorrowfully.

“Now, I propose,” continued Master Benjamin, “that we build a wharf, for

the purpose of carrying on our fisheries. You see these stones. The

workmen mean to use them for the underpinning of a house; but that would

be for only one man’s advantage. My plan is to take these same stones and

carry them to the edge of the water and build a wharf with them. This will

not only enable us to carry on the fishing business with comfort and to

better advantage, but it will likewise be a great convenience to boats

passing up and down the stream. Thus, instead of one man, fifty, or a

hundred, or a thousand, besides ourselves, may be benefited by these

stones. What say you, lads? shall we build the wharf?”

Bell’s proposal was received with one of those uproarious shouts wherewith

boys usually express their delight at whatever completely suits their

views. Nobody thought of questioning the right and justice of building a

wharf with stones that belonged to another person.

“Hurrah! hurrah!” shouted they. “Let’s set about it.”

It was agreed that they should all be on the spot that evening and

commence their grand public enterprise by moonlight. Accordingly, at the

appointed time, the whole gang of youthful laborers assembled, and eagerly

began to remove the stones. They had not calculated how much toil would be

requisite in this important part of their undertaking. The very first

stone which they laid hold of proved so heavy that it almost seemed to be

fastened to the ground. Nothing but Ben Franklin’s cheerful and resolute

spirit could have induced them to persevere.

Ben, as might be expected, was the soul of the enterprise. By his

mechanical genius, he contrived methods to lighten the labor of

transporting the stones, so that one boy, under his directions, would

perform as much as half a dozen if left to themselves. Whenever their

spirits flagged he had some joke ready, which seemed to renew their

strength, by setting them all into a roar of laughter. And when, after an

hour or two of hard work, the stones were transported to the water-side,

Bell Franklin was the engineer to superintend the construction of the

wharf.

The boys, like a colony of ants, performed a great deal of labor by their

multitude, though the individual strength of each could have accomplished

but little. Finally, just as the moon sank below the horizon, the great

work was finished.

“Now, boys,” cried Ben, “let’s give three cheers and go home to bed.

To-morrow we may catch fish at our ease.”

“Hurrah! hurrah! hurrah!” shouted his comrades.

Then they all went home in such an ecstasy of delight that they could

hardly get a wink of sleep.

The story was not yet finished; but George’s impatience caused him to

interrupt it.

“How I wish that I could have helped to build that wharf!” exclaimed he.

“It must have been glorious fun. Ben Franklin forever, say I.”

“It was a very pretty piece of work,” said Mr. Temple. “But wait till you

hear the end of the story.”

“Father,” inquired Edward, “whereabouts in Boston was the mill-pond on

which Ben built his wharf?”

“I do not exactly know,” answered Mr. Temple; “but I suppose it to have

been on the northern verge of the town, in the vicinity of what are now

called Merrimack and Charlestown Streets. That thronged portion of the

city was once a marsh. Some of it, in fact, was covered with water.”

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Biographical Stories (From: "True Stories of History and Biography") · 第 7 / 9 章